I see you with your mother. I’m jealous. I don’t want to be, but I am. 

Pieces of my heart are so incredibly happy for you, but other pieces ache with jealousy. 

My mother is gone. She’s dead. Buried at a cemetery, and gone forever from my future. Sounds harsh because it is. 

I see you making memories, taking pictures, and enjoying life together. I’m not proud to admit, but I’m jealous. I’m envious of your ability to make new memories with your mother.

I wish I could do the same. 

I see you appreciating the help, advice, and expertise of your mother. I have admiration for you and the fact you have that opportunity. I have jealousy that I no longer do. 

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Grief is loss and pain.

Grief is love.

Grief is also jealousy. 

It’s an ache for the mother I lost and the moments stolen from me. It’s jealousy in all the motherly moments around me. The ones I used to have. The ones I used to be blessed with too. It’s being filled with both joy and jealousy watching you with your mother, happy and loved. 

I miss that relationship.

I miss that care. 

I miss that love and influence.

I miss my mother, which is why I find myself jealous of yours and the adventures you still share. 

I’m not proud to have a heart that includes jealousy, but I do. 

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I don’t want to steal your sunshine or rob you of your blessings. I simply want them too.

Grief’s jealousy is noticing mothers everywhere I go. It’s noticing the absence and emptiness I hold in my heart and mind. This kind of jealousy is really just missing what I once had and desperately wanting it back. 

Grief’s jealousy is found in the moments that bring me to my knees, crying, and wishing I resembled you. The you who has a mother. 

I’m ashamed to house jealousy. But I do. 

I acknowledge it, even though it’s humiliating and embarrassing, because this type of jealousy is unique.

It’s built on love and created by counting blessings. One you still have that I lost years ago.

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Grief is loss, and pain, and emptiness, and sometimes, jealousy.

I see you with your mother. I watch with tears. 

You are blessed, friend. You have your mother.

I wish I had my mother, too.

Previously published on the author’s blog

Chelsea Ohlemiller

Wife, mother, and educator who has Indiana roots and a passionate spirit. Chelsea is married to the love of her life and is the mother to three beautiful and spunky children. Chelsea’s mother always encouraged her to write. In 2017 when she tragically lost her mother to cancer she decided to honor her mother's wishes and write. It was one of the best decisions she's ever made. She know owns the website Happiness, Hope & Harsh Realities, a space dedicated to encouraging others experiencing grief and loss. Website: www.hopeandharshrealities.com Instagram Handle: hopeandharshrealities Facebook: @hopeandharshrealities